


the Bad Wolf Code

by writing_as_tracey



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), crossover - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Roselock, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_as_tracey/pseuds/writing_as_tracey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Tyler and her family and friends from Torchwood just survived the stars going out - but all is not well. It begins with her making a new friend, and getting sucked into a "domestic" mystery, one that Torchwood wouldn't usually take. But when it catches the interest of a recently returned Sherlock Holmes, Rose finds herself falling into danger - and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the Bad Wolf Code

The Bad Wolf Code

Kneazle

 Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC, in their respective franchises, of  _Doctor Who_ and  _Sherlock_. I am making no money off this.

**

 **Allison** : We’re going to have a new code. _Nous protègeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protèger eux-měmes_.

 **Chris Argent** : [smiles] “We protect those, who cannot protect themselves.”

\- Teen Wolf, 3.12, “Lunar Eclipse”

*

 I:

                  _The scent of ozone, that heady smell right before it rained, permeated the cool, cement underground bunker. A flash of bright light accompanied it, and where there was once an empty space, a svelte young woman in a thick, shiny blue leather jacket, black jeans and combat boots appeared. Dirt was smeared across her forehead and high on one cheek, her bottle-blonde shoulder-length hair was mussed and windblown, and the heavy-duty gun in her arms was smoking._

_An older man, with thinning reddish-blond hair, in an expensive business suit, stepped forward, just as several white lab coat-clad technicians raced forward with all manner of technology and began scanning and bleeping around the young woman._

_“What happened?” the older man asked. “Where did you end up?”_

_The woman frowned. “London. There were Daleks and Cyberman.”_

_The man’s shoulders slumped. “Not the right time then.”_

_“No,” the young woman agreed, her frown deepening. She was ignoring everyone around her, focusing singularly on the man. She glanced at the man, warm hazel eyes, tinged with gold, and met a similar colour. “How long was I gone for on this end?”_

_“Thirty hours, give or take. How long were you there?” he answered, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets._

_The woman blanched. “Barely thirty seconds or so.”_

_“The spaces between jumps are getting longer,” the man sighed. “Rose...”_

_“I know,” Rose sighed back. “The length between my appearances between dimensions is worsening.”_

_“And there are more black spots in the sky,” added the man. “We need to find the Doctor, **now**.”_

_Rose raised a hand and ran it through her messy hair, mussing it up further. “It doesn’t work like that, Pete, and you know it.”_

_She glanced at the technicians who, by now, had retreated to various work stations littered about the room, but opposite where Rose first appeared. All appeared haggard, worn, with stress lines around their faces and white hairs at their temples, and dark circles under their eyes._

_Pete gently wrapped a hand around Rose’ forearm, and pulled her further from the technicians. He said lowly, “Rose, if we don’t find the Doctor on your next jump – I don’t think there’s **anything** anyone here can do to save this universe.”_

_Rose swallowed heavily, her throat thick. She whispered back, “Then what are we going to do, Dad?”_

_Peter Tyler ran a hand through his own sparse hair, the same familiar action his daughter made just minutes earlier and rolled eyes his upwards. “Come up with a Plan B, I guess.” He glanced at Rose, and twisted his lips wryly. “Or start praying.”_

**

                It wasn’t the beeping of her beside alarm clock that woke her up, but rather her exuberant six-year-old little brother, Tony, who jumped heavily onto her bed and elbowed her in the bladder.

                “ _Oof_ ,” wheezed Rose, rolling from her back to her side, and flinging an arm out to flop heavily onto her brother. It held him in place, stopping his wriggling, but not by much.

                _“Rooooose_ ,” he whined, laughingly, trying to roll over and nudge into his sister.

                “Toooony,” mimicked Rose, waking up. “What time is it, anyway?”

                “Six-thirty,” he answered promptly, his brown eyes wide and his ginger hair sticking up everywhere. “Dad said that you need to get up ‘fore he leaves for work. He’s going to drop me at school but said he wants you looking through some files while he’s at Vitex.”

                “Is he, now?” grinned Rose, moving the hand that was holding Tony down to his ribs. Her fingers began to fly up and down his side, tickling him. Tony shrieked with laughter and did his best to wriggle out of Rose’s grasp, and across her large bed.

                “Rose! Rose! Stop, stop!” he hiccupped. “I give up! I give up!”

                “Yeah, that’s right,” Rose’s smile widened, “Surrender t’ the Defender of the Earth!”

                Tony’s hiccups subsided, and he lay on his back with a wide, toothy smile, tiny pants of air escaping him still as his breathing evened out.

                “D’you miss it?” he finally asked, and Rose, who had been watching the numbers  on her alarm clock steadily tick towards six-forty-three, turned her head slightly to look at her brother’s profile.

                “Mmm?” she hummed. “Miss what?”

                “Defending the Earth,” answered Tony, quietly. “Savin’ everyone.”

                Rose’s stomach immediately knotted, and she tasted bile rising in her throat. She blinked rapidly, turning back to her alarm clock so Tony couldn’t see the wetness in her eyes. “Yeah,” she croaked out, hoarsely. She cleared her throat, and continued, “Yeah, Tony. I miss it all the time.”

*

                Pete was stuffing a slice of toast into his mouth when Rose and Tony appeared in the kitchen. Tony went straight for a bowl of cereal already laid out for him in the breakfast nook, while Rose went to the kettle.

                After swallowing, Pete asked, “Y’alright, Rose?”

                Rose gave a tiny smile, glanced at Tony, and shook her head. Pete understood.

                “Right,” he began, taking a swig of his coffee. “I’ve got a meeting with a few more investors this morning, but I should be free to do some Torchwood stuff after lunch with you, Rose, and I’ll pick Tony up from school. Remember about this evening.”

                “This evening?” Tony asked from his seat, glancing up from the flakes swimming in milk.

                Rose groaned. “ _No_. No, please tell me I don’t have t’ go.”

                Pete flashed Rose a grin. “Yes, you do. As my daughter, and heir to Vitex, you need to be at the charity event.”

                “Am I coming?” asked Tony, eyes bright.

                “Yes, you, too,” answered Pete, but his smile slowly faded as the three realised who would not be joining them. He cleared his throat, a bit stiffly, and brushed a kiss on Rose’s cheek and then one on Tony’s, before leaving to go upstairs and change into his suit for work.

                Alone, Rose and Tony eyed each other from opposite sides of the room. Tony’s chin wobbled, and his gaze went back to his cereal.

                “It’ll get better,” placated Rose, flatly.

                “Does it?” asked Tony, his tone even and not sounding six years old at all.

                Rose sighed, cupping her hands around her mug. “No,” she said authoritatively, if not sadly, “It doesn’t.”

                After that, the two siblings were quiet and finished their breakfast in peace; then, it was a rush to get Tony into his school uniform and out the door. Both he and Pete had shouted their goodbye’s and slammed the doors to the Lexus hard, quickly swinging out of their driveway and onto the road as Rose watched from the main front door.

                Once they were gone, she sighed, turned, and entered the large house, its emptiness crushing in its silence. To combat it, upon entering the living room, she turned the television on to a morning talk show, leaving the volume low but enough to hear the rumble of their host’s voices.

                She made a cup of tea and set it down on the side table next to her spot on the couch, and clipped her hair back before she glanced at the folder. The selection of notes Pete had left for her and what Tony had mentioned was a thick manila folder filled with hand-written and typed cases, photographs, and two USB sticks with audio and video. Rose brought her laptop from her bedroom, opened it and entered her password as well as biometric fingerprint and retinal scan.

               Torchwood’s hexagon styled logo popped up on the screen and Rose reached for the first file in the folder, her eyes skimming it.

 _A Flsigh couple from Deplexus 4, no trouble there; a strange looking piece of equipment that is actually a hairdryer and not a rocket launcher like Jake thought... oh, what’s this?_ Rose thought, peering intensely at the file in front of her.

 _A missing person’s case_ , Rose smiled, glancing at Mickey’s familiar chicken-scratch writing. He had made several points about the case; circling words on the photocopied police report here and there, giant question marks around two circled bits in multiples and then a word – a location – underlined thrice.

               “Mister Henry Rowbottom went missing on March 3rd, for an entire week with no one knowing where he went until he mysteriously reappeared a week later,” muttered Rose, “And while his reappearance made the case open-and-shut, his wife went to a psychiatrist for marriage counselling two months’ later. She then moved out four months after that due to his excessive flatulence.”

               Rose felt her small smile turn into a full-fledged grin, glancing at the location – Surrey – and her mood soared.

               She reached for her mobile phone, quickly thumbing through her contacts until she got to Mickey’s name. He answered with a terse, “Yeah?”

               “Mick,” began Rose, her voice light and happy. “Suit up. You found somethin’.”

               “Yeah?” he repeated, this time his tone completely different. “Which one?”

               “Rowbottom.”

               “Oh. Them Slitheen, ain’t it?”

               “Yep.”

               “I’ll call the others?”

               “I think so,” agreed Rose. “Thanks, Mick.”

               Mickey laughed. “That’s what your dad pays us for, Rose. You ready?”

               “T’ be Defender of the Earth, again?” Rose laughed. “Oh, yeah.”

*

                The situation with the Slitheen didn’t go _quite_ as planned. Although Rose, Mickey, Jake, and two other Torchwood field agents, Simon Martin and Francis Wood, were decked from head to toe in their battle gear and various pistols of stun to lethal variety, they encountered a family similar to the family Slitheen that Mickey and Rose met previously in their home world. This family was just as diabolical in utilising Henry Rowbottom’s connections at work at a quarry in the midlands, but not nearly as comical as their previous dealings.

                Of the group, only Rose came away with a massive Raxacoricofallapatorian’s claw scratch along her shoulder when she pushed Simon out of the way.

                The cut was throbbing, deep but no longer bleeding if not long, starting from under her collarbone and edging to the tip of her shoulder where she rolled the claw off. Mickey kept giving her a side look as Rose pressed a clean cloth to it.

                “I wish we still had the lab,” murmured Francis quietly, watching from across Rose and Mickey in the back of their black van.

                “Me, too,” laughed Rose breathlessly.

                Simon, in the driver’s seat, glanced at them from the rear-view mirror. Jake sat beside him, half-turned to face the back of the group.

                “You’re going to need to get that looked at,” said Mickey finally, as Rose pulled the cloth away with a slight hiss.

                She sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. An’ quick, too, I’ve got a Vitex thing tonight.”

                Francis grinned. “Hopefully not in a strapless number.”

                “No, this one’s got sleeves.” Rose grinned at her friend, her tongue sliding just out. She looked back at her puffy gash, and asked, “Do we know a competent doctor who won’t ask questions?”

                Simon nodded, changing course on their built-in GPS. “I do; the one I went to after...” he trailed off, glancing quickly in the mirror and then back on the road. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, my broken ankle hadn’t healed properly and that cut I got from the flying debris got infected. Met a doctor near my grocer’s and he fixed it all up, no questions asked. Seemed military, too, so he didn’t seem too interested in knowing what I had got up to get that banged up.”

                “Let’s go see ‘im, then,” answered Rose. “Best drop everyone else off, though, Si. I’ll catch a cab back t’ the house t’ get ready.”

                “Where’s the party, tonight?” asked Jake. “Is Tony going, too?”

                “Yeah, he is. His first,” smiled Rose. “An’ I think it’s at some fancy hotel near Oxford Street.”

                The group kept Rose talking until they arrived at the doctor’s clinic, with Simon helping her out and into the building, hoping the man who saw him would be in. With luck, the receptionist said he was and was willing to see Simon’s friend, who sat Rose in a vacant seat and the left to drop the others off at their flats, as she had instructed.

                The receptionist helped Rose into a private room, grimacing at the mucky cut and slight ooziness, a green tinge to her face as she passed Rose a few bandages to keep pressure on it. With an eye roll, Rose did so, flicking through her phone’s pictures with her thumb, a smile on her lips as she got to an album titled ‘family.’

                She was only a few pictures in – Tony’s last birthday – when the door opened and a man in his mid-thirties with an air of efficiency, and world-weary tiredness, entered with a slight limp. He was near Rose’s height, albeit slightly taller, with short dirty blond hair and pleasant face. He smiled at her, stepping forward and introducing himself without his hand extended as he glanced at her wound.

                “Dr. John Watson,” he said, already pulling on latex gloves, eyes firmly fixed on the gash.

                Rose blinked. That name was very familiar...

                “Rose Tyler,” she said in response, watching him as he stepped forward and began to prod gently at the gash, pausing when he heard her hiss.

                “I’ll need to disinfect this, and then stitch it up and cover it with gauze,” Doctor John Watson explained, his fingers following the thickness of the cut, to its deepest just past the collarbone.

                _Glad it’s not broken,_ thought Rose.

                “It’ll likely scar,” warned the doctor.

                “I figured as much,” sighed Rose. “It’s not the first, an’ it won’t be the last.”

                John Watson’s mouth twitched. “Do you often find yourself in dangerous situations that require stitches?”

                “More often than my dad would like, I’m sure,” replied Rose with the same wry tone John Watson used. “If you don’t mind...” she began hesitantly, “It’s just, you seem really familiar...? Have we met b’fore?”

                The doctor stepped away, turned back to a cabinet running along the opposite wall of the examination bed Rose sat on, rummaging through one of the drawers for what he needed as he answered her.

               “I don’t think so,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder, pausing. “Maybe you follow my blog? Or saw me on the news?”

               “Your blog?”

               The doctor seemed slightly embarrassed as he brought his collection to the bed beside rose, laying everything out precisely and in the order he required it. Rose caught this and smothered a smile.

               “Yes,” he answered, concentrating on a cotton swab and a bottle of disinfectant. “I write – erm, _wrote_ – in a blog covering mysterious and interesting cases.”

               “What kind of mysterious an’ interesting?” asked Rose, curious herself. Was he into mysterious and interesting like she and Torchwood were? They could use a doctor on their team, if that was the case...

               John sighed and said, a touch bitterly, “You don’t want to hear about that, I’m sure.”

               “It’ll keep my mind off what you’re about t’ do,” she replied honestly, and that drew a smile from him.

               “In that case,” he began, and Rose found herself growing more and more incredulous as the tale continued, her mouth dropping opening and her brain whizzing ahead furiously.

               The ‘mysterious and interesting case’ John told Rose about was of a military-grade lab called _Baskerville_ of all things, of a giant hound haunting Dartmoor, and Rose found herself growing faint.

 _Doctor_ John Watson _,_ she thought. _A consulting detective by the name of Sherlock Holmes. The Hound of Baskerville being the case he’s talking about. They’re real. Holy shit, Holmes and Watson are_ real _._

               The story the doctor told wasn’t necessarily long or detailed, but enough to cover the span of time it took to clean Rose’s cut, stitch and dress it, ultimately keeping her mind off what he was doing and keeping her entertained. And in a way, it was good for John Watson, too, who hadn’t spoken of his adventures with Sherlock for some time, especially given what their next case had been.

               “You sound sad,” remarked Rose, watching him put things away. She gently flexed her shoulder, sighing at the sting but knowing better to move more.

               The doctor glanced at Rose, before looking back down at his hands as he finished, pulling the gloves off and disposing of them properly. “It’s been awhile since I thought of Baskerville. Of Sherlock.”

               “Is he...?” Rose trailed off.

               The doctor nodded. “Didn’t you hear the news? With what happened and Moriarty?

               Rose did her best not to goggle at the new name. “Um, no.” She glanced away, sliding off the bed as she did so. “I was... really invested in work the past little while an’ then... anyway. I lost someone – lots of friends, too – recently... an’ I guess I buried myself.”

                “I’m sorry,” said John.

                Rose looked up at him. “Me too.”

                They were silent, him writing something – a receipt, likely – and Rose gathered her bag and gingerly slipped on her bright blue leather jacket, only to have John stop and help her.

                “Listen,” she began, hesitantly, biting her lip and worrying it. “I don’t mean t’ sound strange or anything – but do you have plans tonight?”

                John blinked at her.

                Rose began to flush. “Not like a date, or anything,” she hastened, “It’s just... my dad, he’s hosting this event tonight. An’ it seems like you need to get out an’ have some fun. Have a good time, not like a date-date, y’know? Just as friends?”

                As Dr. Watson’s face continued to remain blank, Rose hurriedly finished her rambles, her flush vibrantly red across her cheeks, neck and chest.

                “Never mind, a successful bloke like you? Probably got lotsa plans,” she gave a short, nervous laugh. “I’ll just go an’ pay out at reception.” She paused at the door, glancing back at the man who had yet to move, just staring at her like she were a Sycrorax or something, and sighed.

               “Look, if you change your mind – it’s at the Cavendish, ballroom A, at seven tonight. I’ll put your name down, in case.”

               She gave him a small smile, with a genuine, “Thanks, Doctor,” and then was out the door before he could say anything.

*

                The dress Rose chose for the Vitex event was a black sheath, falling mid-thigh with a square neckline and long, thin sleeves. It was rather demure compared to her old clubbing wear from her Powell Estate days, but it was perfect for the image Pete was trying currently to cultivate. Her hair was in an elegant but low bun with twisted braids through it, and her neck and ears were adorned with tasteful and small diamonds.

                Tony and Pete were in near matching suits, their differences being their ties, and Rose knew that as a family unit, they looked rather spectacular, with Pete first greeting the massive crowd in the ballroom with Rose and Tony next to him on the stage. He finished his greeting with a small pitch before asking the hired band to begin playing, and then was swept to the side by his assistant – someone from Torchwood who acted more as the face for Vitex – and some potential clients. Rose and Tony began to mingle, speaking to old women who cooed at Tony, and men who leered at Rose.

                 Once they completed a circuit of the room, Tony joined their father at a canapé table, leaving Rose to watch couples on the dance floor and remembering a time when someone she knew suddenly remembered to dance.

                The strains of Glen Miller’s _Sing, Sing, Sing_ floated through the air and she groaned.

                “That’s just not fair,” she whined.

                “What’s not?” a voice behind her asked.

                Spinning on her heels, Rose gapped. Doctor John Watson had come to her father’s event, looking nice in his suit, even if he was embarrassed.

                “You came,” sputtered Rose.

                “You did ask,” said John, tentatively. “Was I not meant to come?”

                “No, no,” said Rose, reaching forward and grabbing him by the arm. “I’m glad you did. Thank you. I didn’t want t’ be alone, t’ be honest.”

                John nodded at Pete and Tony. “It did seem like you were abandoned recently. Yours?”

                Rose followed his gaze and stifled a laugh. “My dad an’ little brother. Definitely mine, though, just due t’ all the chaos he leaves. We’re the same.”

                With a glance at her covered cut, John nodded. “I agree.”

                The two fell silent, watching those around them dance, and then suddenly he spoke again. “I wasn’t sure you meant it, though. I mean, at first, it was a kind gesture. But then, arriving here and realising _who_ was here – I wasn’t sure anymore.”

                “I lost a lot of friends,” said Rose quietly.

                “I remember you said.”

                “An’ it’s hard, goin’ on an’ doin’ something with your life,” she continued. “Sometimes, you feel guilty. An’ other times, you feel angry. But most of all, I feel _lonely_.”

                John looked as though he knew exactly how Rose felt when she looked at him, his brown eyes caught on something in the distant past, even if all around them were fancy dresses and men in suits. The lines on his face were deeper etched than before, and an air of sadness hung around him.

                “But then I remember somethin’ I told a friend once,” said Rose, with a small smile. John caught her eyes and asked, “oh?”

                “Sometimes,” said Rose, reaching out, “You just need a hand t’ hold.”

                She grabbed his hand and pulled him out on the dance floor, joining the others there and swinging him around. He let out a startled laugh, and Rose grinned, her tongue slipping out.

                “Doctor Watson,” she said over the music, “I think this is the beginnin’ of a beautiful friendship!”

                He laughed. “It is if you quote classic American films to me, Ms. Tyler. But please, it’s John.”

                “Rose, then.”

                And that was how Rose Tyler and John Watson became friends.

*

                Several months later, a broken wrist, three sprained ankles, and numerous lacerations that John patched up for her, Rose was meeting him and his girlfriend – for the first time – for dinner. It was a momentous occasion, as John had informed her that he was thinking she was ‘the one,’ and _the one_ to help him move past his time with Sherlock.

                Rose wasn’t necessarily convinced the detective was a dead as John thought he was, merely because of the story John finally told her: about the Reichenbach painting, and what she remembered from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original works.

                She kept her thoughts to herself, but in her spare time between Torchwood, Vitex, and spending time with her family and friends, she browsed the internet and some things didn’t add up.

                However, at the current moment, she entered the restaurant John texted her about, glancing this way and that for him and Mary Morstan. She finally spotted him, just as he saw her.

                With a grin, Rose drew up close to the table near the back of the restaurant and far from the windows – a great spot to avoid any enterprising paparazzi – and hugged John as he stood.

                “Hello!” she greeted, kissing his cheek and moving around to the other side, where Mary had stood hesitantly. Rose drew her into a hug and kissed her cheek as well, quickly easing any nerves the woman had, and settled into the free seat, shrugging her jacket off as she did so.

                She caught John surreptitiously running his eyes up and down her bare arms, looking for scars he knew intimately from stitching them, or looking for new gashes he’d have to fix up. In the year they’d been friends, he had never once asked about her free time, knowing that she did more than play ‘society girl’ as the paps called her.

                “Nothin’ new for you t’ stitch today, John, I promise,” she teased, glancing at Mary to make sure the woman knew he wasn’t checking his friend out in front of his serious girlfriend. “I was good today – took Tony t’ the aquarium, dodged some paparazzi outside of it later, an’ then watched a lot of movies wit’ Mickey.”

                “Good,” he answered shortly, glancing at the menu in front of him.

                “You must lead a very exciting life then,” Mary offered, opening the conversation.

                “I try,” grinned Rose. “It’s not fun sittin’ around but it’s fun trickin’ the paparazzi into thinkin’ I’m nothin’ more than a’ empty-headed blonde spendin’ her daddies’ money.”

                “You obviously aren’t empty-headed,” argued back Mary, sniffing at the blonde insult, and self-consciously touching her own blonde hair, tucked back behind her ears.

                “No,” agreed Rose, looking at Mary over the edge of her menu, a wicked gleam in her eyes, “But they’re right that I definitely spend my dad’s money.”

                John groaned just as the waiter approached, and Rose ordered a bottle of white wine for them, and a juice for John.

                “What did you buy now?” he asked.

                “Nothin’,” laughed Rose, glancing between two options on the menu.

                John sent Rose a withering look. “No, what did you buy?”

                The young blonde sighed, folded her menu and placed it on the tabletop, glancing at Mary before she asked John, “D’you really want me t’ answer that in front of your girlfriend, an’ possibly make a terrible impression of myself?”

                Mary laughed.

                “Fine,” sighed Rose dramatically. “I needed more space for my hard drive, so I may have bought a start-up company today because of the technology they’re developin’.”

                “How much?” John pinched the bridge of nose, dreading the answer.

                “Umm, maybe five?” answered Rose, a twitch to her lips.

                The waiter appeared with their chilled bottle, and began pouring the wine in Mary and Rose’s glasses.

                “Five... what?” asked Mary, seeing where Rose was taking the joke.

                “Million?”

                John removed his hand and spoke directly to the waiter, “I’ll have a pint, please. I’ll need it tonight.”

                And the two women in his life began laughing, and the rest of the evening went well, all at John’s expense.

                Later, when Mary excused herself to use the toilets, Rose waited until she had left to turn to him and say, “I really like her.”

                “I’m glad,” answered John. “I could see myself asking her to marry me, you know.”

                “Then you should,” she urged, smiling and catching his eyes. Brown met brown and held them, and Rose leaned forward to rest her hand on his. “Although, as your friend, if she hurts you...”

                “You’ll spend some money making her disappear?” replied John, jokingly. He laughed.

                “No joke, seriously,” laughed Rose. “I could do it.”

                “Thank you, Rose,” said John, sobering. “I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you pulling me out of my hole.”

                “You would be,” argued Rose. “It’d just take you a bit longer.”

                As Mary returned to the table, Rose’s mobile began to vibrate. A text from Mickey about a potential developing situation meant dinner was over for her and Torchwood began.

                “Time to go?” asked Mary, watching as Rose’s smiling face slowly hardened.

                “For me, at least,” answered Rose, sliding her phone into her purse.

                “Does that mean I might see you within the next twenty four hours?” asked John, reaching over and taking Mary’s hand in his.

                Rose looked at their clasped hands, and shook her head. “Not tonight, no way!” She stood, putting on her jacket and giving both of them a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t do anythin’ I wouldn’t do,” she grinned at John, who blushed, and Mary who blushed harder.

                “Goodbye, Rose,” said Mary. “It was wonderful meeting you.”

                “You, too,” she said, waving her goodbye and weaving through the seats.

                Duty had called, and Rose Tyler, Vitex heiress was off the clock – it was time for the Defender of the Earth.

*

                The ringing of Rose’s phone woke her from her slumber, one that had started barely two hours ago, due to a late afternoon working a Torchwood lead and then quickly changing for a charity event Pete wanted her to go to.

                Rose slapped her hand out from under her comfortable bed sheets, groping around for a second or two before her hand connected with her mobile. She pulled it towards her, eyes still closed, and squinted against the bright white backlit of it, typing her password in.

                “John?” she mumbled hoarsely into the phone.

                “Rose? I’m so sorry to call at this time,” he said, sounding agitated and harassed, breathless.

                “What izzit?” mumbled Rose, rolling over and yawning, slowly blinking and waking herself up.

                “Do you think you could come by?” asked John.

                “Is somethin’ wrong?” asked Rose, coming awake quicker.

                John paused – she could almost _hear_ it – and then he said: “Sherlock’s alive.”

**

TBC...

**Author's Note:**

> Erm... will update when I can? Likely December-ish. Currently in the crazy end of term process of undergrad marking to do, my grad course essays to write, a presentation next week, and then lots of readings before I'm done the semester.


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